It’s swampy out there tonight.  Cool but humid.  Weird ass shit, says me.

Guess who’s not going to work tomorrow?   Guess who’s not going to work all week?

Shitchea.

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Carrot Cake is the business.

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So the girls are off to SD on Wednesday.  I’m gonna spend some time with them Monday and Tuesday, get them on the plane, then head to Tom’s on Friday.  In between all that, I’ve got a song to finish arranging and some test vox to drop.  I’m really can’t wait to dive in…

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I’m coming to terms with the fact that the relationships I have with people may not be or have been the best.  As a matter of fact, many of them have been less than optimal for either of us.  That’s not to say they can’t be fixed, because I’m doing that now and it’s paying off immediately, but you come to realize the relationships that are important – and more importantly – why.

I don’t know the answers, but I’m starting to see the questions and that’s progress.

One thing I’ve discovered:  My relationship with alcohol, as toxic as it is, is a direct result of having what I’d consider a disrespectful relationship with myself.  That goes for any other substance that can be abused.  Food can be part of that, too, but that’s something for another time.

For now, though, I’mma enjoy the next few days, enjoy the grounding time, and really get some work done.

And also masturbation.

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Ugh.  I should know better than this.

Note to self:  When done writing for the day, play something shittier than yours so as to not repeatedly punch yourself in the Dick of Creativity.  That really hurts after a while.

So this has been a good weekend despite a significant lack of mobility:  I was going to hit the skating rink and pussed out.  I was going to hit the driving range but it got hot.  Weah.  So, I watched Doctor Who with my girl, the World Cup Final while playing Find The Hidden Bellybutton, more Doctor Who, and, when the girls went to the pool, started my arrangements.1  Granted, it’s just a shell, but I dare say it’ll work.  It better fucking work; I’m gonna make it work.  I’ll send it off to Spenc0r, he’ll work his magic and I’m back in business.

I gotta launch this fucking rocket, man.

So I’m gonna pick up my Chinese food in 20 minutes, watch some Monuments Men with my lady and wash clothes, ’cause I’m pretty sure I have Jack to wear for next week.

Speaking of next week, I’m excited about next week ’cause I’m more excited about the week after:  Ivonne and Reza are going to San Diego next Wednesday and I’ve decided to take that entire week off – not only to spend with them before they go, but to see them off properly and check my head when they leave.  I’d love to be able to go, but can’t…  my Materia is spent.  Gotta hit an Inn.

I feel simpler lately.  Not sure why or where, but I feel…  simpler.  Like there are three things in front of me and each of them are manageable, rather than a smorgasbord of infinite options ripping at my particles.

Spencer had it right when he said one day:  “Your problem is you have too many options.  Maybe you’d be more productive if you limited yourself to what you can use…”

Chrometaphor.  Hah!  I’ll always get the last laugh, Nemesis.

  1. If you know me AT ALL, this is really good progress.  Really. []
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Yeah, so I’ve been sitting here looking at my screen trying to find the right words to effectively convey how happy I am for my hetero-life-mate and arch-nemesis Spenc0r.

I love that dude and he’s got a girl that loves him, so much so that he asked her to marry him and she said yes and there go all my hopes and dreams.

I guess I missed the boat.  There it goes… sailing off into the glorious horizon with breasts at the helm.  How can I compete with that?

So as the lonely tears mark their tracks from my ducts to the floor, I raise a glass1 to you, Lord and Soon-To-Be-Lady Zyxt.  May the terror you wield together be as deep and terrible as the seas you sail, and may we meet again to wage our timeless battle, but only after you’ve weakened yourself with too much sex.  Thus shall my victory be complete.

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Fucking love you more that I can ever say, dude.  Congratulations, and may all the happiness in the world be yours.

 

lifechurch

Just sayin’.

  1. See?! That’s funny under the circumstances!  FUNNY! []
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Never Forget the Portuguese Dagger.

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Wow.  This was kind of a fucked up couple weeks.

Not gonna go into it; I have some shame.  Some.

Gorge on provisions from self-acceptance and unadulterated fear and you compromise the ways to deal with the demons that rear at the most inopportune times, or how to manage the updrafts, or how to glide albatross in your own doldrums.  It’s tempestuous at best, debilitating at worst and I’m not managing them well lately, but that’s totally on me.  There’s lots of reasons, mostly internal.  Those that are external need to stay there and I’m remembering why I have been perfectly fine with that; I keep them at arm’s length for a reason.

I also use semicolons too much.  *shrug*

The thing is, shit like this happens, but it’s not for lack of trying. Sometimes the barbarians scale the walls and you’ve got to beat them back before you can restore order.  Other times, you’ve got conspirators in your midst.  Right now, I’m sweeping up the shards of the stained glass windows and saging the room from the stink of insurrection.  All in good time.

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Someone’s been reading a lot of Byzantine History.

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So this writing-a-book thing.  It was starting to get me down ’cause saw no progress.  Now it’s pissing me off.  I hate being told that I can’t do something, can’t have something.  The moment someone else has it, I wonder why I didn’t see its value.  I see a story to be told, and fuck all if I’m not going to tell it.  I seriously won’t let myself debilitate myself.  It’s ridiculous.

So I’ll keep trying.  I’ll keep sitting here, trying to figure out how to put words to paper, trial, tribulation, bullshit and angst all in the course of a few hours a night.

Lucky you:  If i’m not writing there, I’m writing here and this gets blasted with piss.

It’s gotta land somewhere.

 

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“Odd how it’s so much easier to write a single page than an entire blank book at once,” he grinned, and she thought he looked like he knew something nobody else did in the whole wide world.

Without asking, he took the book from her small hand and rotated it twice, as if he was inspecting the binding.  Turning to a random page, he inspected the front, then the back, saw nothing but white.  “Good.  The flow, the diction, the unanticipated nuances of where the words – and worlds – take you aren’t remotely as confining as the ones you think you need to be building.  This is a canvas, girl… Where is the paint?

He squinted slightly.  “But you’ve got plan, don’t you?”

“I was given a book once,” he murmured.  “Not these banal glue-bound periodicals on your shelf with names like ‘Mole goes to School,’ or ‘You Must Be Remedial If You Need To Use Fruit In Arithmetic’, but a real book.  A book that opens your mind!  A book that takes you to those places you will never hope to see with your earthly eyes, child…  A book that unlocks the key to your very soul!

He looked down at an arm – his arm? – gripping her tightly by the wrist.  He inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and let her hand fall.  She stepped back two paces but did not run.

“It shows you every pitfall, every rationalization, every possible spear aimed at your heart from the Native Dark that will keep you from doing that which you were born to – and are afraid to – do…”

As his breathing slowed, he stroked his mustache with his right thumb as he was wont to do in those small vulnerable moments past distress and looked down his nose, monocle clenched tight in his right eye, magnifying the emotion he so carefully guarded.

“Believe you me, child,” he whispered as he picked a small yellow flower, and stroking her hair, slid it quietly behind her ear. “It will take you exactly where you need to be.”

“What book, sir?”

He grinned again, this time as a conspirator.

“The one in your hand, girl.”

 

Technically speaking, the Dog Days of Summer are reserved for those swampy, swarthy mid-August afternoons when no amount of iced tea or Pacifico can quench the thirst that bores into your throat like a tick on a, well, dog.  Puritan.  Evil.  No getting around them.

We’re not even close to those days… yet.

But here we sit in 90 degree weather; thankful and hopeful that when the sun goes down and quiet descends on the neighborhood, that peacefulness will creep into our homes like a benevolent Angel of Death, ready to anoint us with the passage of yet another day that will pile onto the already massive memories of Summers before.  Pools, bellyflops, creeks and tadpoles; stalwarts of these moments that build character.  It’s just a scratch, boy.

Laziness is the rule of the day, insofar as even when you can’t be lazy, every cell in your body slows down to entice you to its natural resting place, a place of beauty, dreams, sweaty sheets and foggy heads.

The girls watch bad television, I put words to screen.

When I look at where we could be in relation to where we are now, I revel – no pun intended – in what we’ve done and accomplished.  Embracing the possibilities and being thankful for our small, well-built home, I’d give nothing to change it.  The joy and mania of adolescence at the swimming pool to the wind whispering sleep from the leaves, the beauty exists not outside, but in here, in 79 degree living rooms laden with the smells of curry and the promise of laughter and energy.

Anticipation in its most visceral form:  Knowing that wonder and greatness is ahead.

It is the sweetest of all deserts.

 

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An email just went out to the management staff at my place of employment: Looks like we’re going to take part in the San Francisco Pride parade on June 29th.

I realize that it’s Marketing, and I realize it may not necessarily be philanthropic in nature…

But I’m really proud to work for an organization that actively and proudly supports equality.

Never had that before… and it’s really, really cool.

 

+ THE  WEATHER HAS BEEN AWESOME.

–  I’m sleepy.

+  I just had some tea, so maybe that’ll change.

+  I’ve been writing more.  It really is a muscle that needs to be worked to feel confidence in my abilities.  I’ll get there.

+  Ditched Facebook.  Not gonna lie, been back to be narcissistic a bit, but other than that, bye bye birdie.

–  Facebook really is an addiction.  I’ve found myself getting anxious because I’m not scrolling through the bullshit.  How weird is that?  It just becomes so ingrained and we pour it down our throats of our own accord.  I hereby rebel.

–  Reza’s growing up too fast.

+  Reza’s turning a personality corner and it’s pretty awesome.  Her relationship with her Mom has bloomed and it’s a beautiful thing to see.  She’s still – and will always be – opinionated and spunky, but shit if she’s not smart as a slap to the ass.

–  Money is tight and that makes for a bit of added stress.  Nothing we can’t handle, but lots of shit out of the blue.  We’re good about buckling down when we need to and this is one of those times.  All good, though, and that’s no lie.

+  Excited for the girls to head to San Diego in July.  I know it never goes as planned, but the ends justify the means if that means Reza and Ivonne can spend time with Bee and Ivonne’s parents.  They adore Reza – but will hate her haircut!  yeah! – and Reza needs that exposure.

–  Reza is having issues coming to grips with her heritage.  I realize it bums Ivonne out, but she’s not doing it on purpose – she’s doing it because she has no reference, no correlation to the importance of her heritage.  That’s something that both Ivonne and I failed to do.  With more exposure to her heritage comes pride in it – and that needs to be addressed stat.

+  We are peaceful right now and I couldn’t be happier with that.  Ivonne and I need more time together, but we’re kinda dependent on each other, so that’s nothing new.  But I like peaceful.  Peaceful is happiness in tangible form.

–  I just realize these +/- posts are very much like long-form Facebook updates.  Hmm.  Is it laziness or convenience?

+  Passport application submitted.  That needed to be done in a big way, simply because you gotta get back in to Mexico somehow, and frankly – I need to get out of the country on vacation like NOW.

+  Istanbul, anyone?

+  Or Japan?

+  Or Paris?

+  Or Iceland?

+  Or Yosemite?  (I SEE YOU, LOGIC FLAW)

–  Gotta wait ’til shit calms down here, first.  Hopefully I can jet down to San Diego when the girls go.  I shall + that part.

+  Girls in 20.  Hopefully my lady is wearing slutty underwear.  To bed Reza!  To bed!

–  Shit!  Forgot to do Prelims!  Back to work!